Among Poets and Madmen
by LookingBeyondTheEmbers
Summary: A band of traveling bards and poets arrive in Camelot, prompting excitement and curiosity among the people. However, Merlin has the oddest feeling that the artists have an ulterior motive for visiting. Once again, everything and everyone he holds dear are in danger as Merlin struggles to unravel the mysterious group's strange connection to himself and his past. Set mid-season 3.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ Greetings, everyone! This is my first-ever attempt at a multi-chapter fic, and, well. Frankly, I'm terrified, but I'm gonna do it anyway! This story is set after 3x7, slight spoilers for that episode. This is intended as mystery/adventure but will probably contain generous doses of Hurt!Merlin and general whumpage because I can't help but beat the poor wizard up. No slash, Gwen/Arthur hinted at but not really explored. Reviews are most definitely welcome!

The guards straightened suddenly, looking suspiciously at the band of travelers who approached the gate. There were seven people in all, dressed in simple but bright garments that appeared to be an eclectic mix of bizarre articles and colors. From what the first guard could see, there were about an even mix of young males and females, all dressed the same way and most carrying small packs or cases.

The group of travelers approached the gate easily, laughing slightly amongst themselves about some joke that the guards had not been able to hear.

"State your business," the first guard said briskly, tightening his grip slightly on the lance he held.

Someone from the group stepped out, a man who was dressed in a bright green tunic with a red jerkin and faded brown pants. Everything was offset by his purple workman's hat which was tipped at a jaunty angle.

"Greetings!" he said merrily, sweeping his hat off his head in a low bow. "We should like to gain access to your wonderful kingdom, which we have heard so many tales about."

"What business do you have here?" the guard repeated. Normally, anyone who wanted to enter Camelot could do so as they pleased, but this group set the guard's teeth on edge and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He couldn't place the feeling, but something about the brightly-dressed, laughing people was wrong.

"We are but simple bards and troubadours, the lot," the man said easily, not offended. "We wish to have a tankard of your finest mead, to stay a few nights in your beds, to see the strength and beauty the mighty Camelot has to offer the world. Perhaps we will even find inspiration and compose something new," he said with a wide, white grin.

"Very well," the guard said reluctantly, unable to reasonably deny them entry.

"Thank you, kind sir," said one of the women in the group, younger than the rest with her brown curly hair tied tightly back with an orange scarf. The guard didn't smile back, and the girl stared openly at him, unabashed in her curiousness even when the guard looked pointedly back at her.

The leader of the band stepped back to join the rest of his comrades, then strode through the gates of Camelot confidently. The guard had to fight the impulse to turn around and stop the people as they brushed past the strong doors of the kingdom.

The other guard noticed his discomfort and clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder bracingly. "They're just bards," he said. "Poets and musicians, just simple folk with nothing better to do than travel around and sing foolish songs. They may look a little strange, but they're harmless, really."

The first guard shook his head seriously, his lips a thin line. "Something about them isn't right," he insisted. "I don't know what it is, but it's something. Mark my words, nothing good will come of their presence in Camelot."

The guard scoffed and laughed. "You've become too cautious, my friend. Soon you'll be jumping at shadows. They're just artists, and they've just as much right to be in Camelot as anyone else. Save the concern for things that could legitimately pose a threat to the kingdom," he finished, tone slightly admonishing.

The first guard scowled and readjusted his stance. He hadn't expected his friend to believe him, and suspected that the King would think even less of his story if he were to bring it to light. He would continue with his tasks, he would protect the kingdom from what were deemed "legitimate threats."

But he would keep his eyes open to what he saw. He would listen to his instincts.

He would not forget.

MERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLIN

The young prince strode briskly into the main council room, where his father sat regally on his throne. "Prince Arthur," the king said with thinly veiled impatience. He had been kept waiting for nearly fifteen minutes.

"Father," Arthur returned with a respectful bow. "Forgive my absence this morning, it couldn't be helped," he said in a tone that implied it wasn't quite his fault either. In truth, Merlin had been uncharacteristically ungainly as he struggled to complete his chores that morning.

Arthur's usually punctual manservant had arrived late and immediately started the morning by dropping the Prince's armor and scattering the newly polished pieces, overturning an inkwell onto his clean shirt and tripping while cleaning out the fireplace, spilling ash all over the floor.

It had taken Arthur twice as long to get ready than it normally did because Merlin had done the lacings on his shirt backwards and had tried to put his vest on inside out.

Finally, Arthur had left his chambers before Merlin could do any more damage. He had hurriedly tucked in his shirt just as he was entering the Throne Room and knew that his hair was untidy. He flushed slightly, but put on a calm face that the rest of the people in the Throne Room would see. From the corner of his eye, he saw Morgana smirk slightly, eyes twinkling with mischief.

King Uther leaned back in his throne, acknowledging the apology. He beckoned for Arthur to join them, and Arthur sat down in his chair by the right of Uther's throne, throwing a glare in Morgana's direction.

Shortly, a gangly servant with a shock of raven hair and pale skin ran around the corner to the main doors and slid to a halt at the doorway. He was out of breath and looked flustered. Uther looked at his son's unkempt servant somewhat contemptuously. Merlin's hair was tousled, and his scarf hung askew around his neck. Blushing furiously, Merlin bowed deeply and scurried to the side of the room where he had spied Guinevere standing quietly. To her credit, Gwen did not laugh, but instead flashed him a sympathetic look mixed with obvious bemusement. Merlin shot her a pained grimace and took his place quietly next to her.

Uther raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head, suppressing a deep sigh. At that moment, a courier walked hurriedly into the hall, bowing his head towards the throne. "A message for the King," he announced in a weak, shaky voice.

"Yes?" Uther asked.

"There is a group of people outside the castle, my lord," said the courier carefully. "They wish to speak with you."

"Send them in," said the king, leaning back in his chair.

"My lord. With all due respect," the courier began, shifting from foot to foot.

"Get on with it!" snapped Uther, losing all patience for the flighty messenger.

"Well, it's just that…You see, sire, they're not exactly…..normal travelers," said the unfortunate courier, who looked like he would rather have been anywhere else at that moment.

"They are a traveling band of bards and troubadours, my lord. They are….very strange," he said reluctantly, unsure of how to describe the utterly bizarre appearance and mannerisms of the people who waited patiently outside the castle walls.

"Send them in," the king repeated slowly, as if the courier were too stupid to understand what he had said the first time.

The courier slumped miserably. "Yes, sire." The messenger fled from the room, his ears burning with embarrassment.

Arthur glanced at his father. Uther had closed his eyes and appeared to be summoning all the patience and forbearance he possessed. Arthur hurriedly leaned back in his chair, muscles aching with tension. He had the nagging suspicion that this wouldn't end well.

He looked up as the band of people entered the hall. Several members of the Royal Court were unable to hold back surprised intakes of air and began murmuring almost inaudibly to one another as soon as the group entered the room. There was nothing besides their clothing to suggest that the group was anything but ordinary, and yet they carried themselves with a certain air and brought the feeling that they were completely foreign.

The small assortment loped over the floor hall with the grace of long traveling through unchanging, often harsh lands. The ease with which they moved seemed completely alien inside a refined castle, something curiously fey and wild. The king covered his shock well, but stared at the odd assortment of people entering his beloved Throne Room.

The leader, the same young man who had approached the guard smoothly took the lead as his people gaped openly at the members of the court. Merlin found his eyes drawn inexplicably to the young lady with her curly hair tied tightly back with the orange scarf. She looked up into his gaze and stared back at him with piercing green eyes. He realized suddenly that she was very beautiful and hurriedly dropped his eyes. Even staring at the stone floor, he could feel her inquisitive eyes watching him.

"King Uther of Camelot," the leader said in a strong, clear voice. He approached the throne and sank into a low bow, sweeping the ridiculous purple hat off his head once again. His fellow travelers either curtseyed or bowed likewise.

"We have traveled to and fro, walking for many days to reach your fair kingdom. May I extend the greeting by saying that the rumors of Camelot's might and beauty fall immeasurably short."

The king nodded, brushing off the flattery. "What is your business here?"

"We are bards and poets, moving from one place to the next, always in search of the next muse and inspiration for our verses, our songs. We mean no harm and come in peace; all we ask is that we are given the freedom to explore the kingdom and its land, so that we may find something that inspires composition."

Arthur stole another sidelong glance at his father and was shocked to see that the normally grim-faced King was smiling slightly.

"You have permission to move as you will," the king said authoritatively. "However, I must insist that in return for staying in my kingdom, you will perform your newly acquired songs and poems here in the Throne Room before you take your leave of Camelot."

The leader of the group smiled widely, and bowed once again. "But of course, my King. We would be honored to perform our humble songs in such a hall as this."

"What is your name?" Uther asked.

"I am called Keir," the odd man said, looking the king full in the face. Arthur noticed with a slight jolt that the man's eyes were two different colors. The left was a warm brown, but the right was a shockingly bright blue.

"Very well, Keir. You are the leader of this…group?" Uther inquired.

Keir looked confused for a moment, frowning slightly. "Forgive me, sire, but I do not understand. You speak of hierarchy and rank. My people and I—we have no need for such social devices. We have no "leader", not in our physical group. We are all servants to the Great Muse, and therefore are equal in pursuit of our goal, our one great purpose."

"I see," said the king, although it was clear he did not understand. "Whatever your organization, should I need to speak with anyone, I shall contact you, Keir," he said, locking eyes firmly with Keir.

The young man nodded seriously. "I understand, my lord. In this, you needn't worry. My people and I are rarely apart; we tend to stay together as a rule. You shall rarely see one without the others."

"Just see to it that your people stay out of trouble," the King ordered.

"Yes, sire," Keir agreed readily.

Merlin noticed that he did not bow as he said this.

"Welcome to Camelot," the King said, a slight smile curling at the edges of his mouth. "I hope that you enjoy your stay here, and find it conducive to the pursuance of your art."

"I am sure it will be most pleasant to see more of your glorious kingdom. We find that people can be quite…agreeable when bards and troubadours perform," Keir said softly, the certainty of his tone sending a prickle of unease up Merlin's spine. Uther failed to notice the hinted menace and waved a hand, dismissing them.

Keir turned on his heel and walked out the way he came. The rest of his group followed suit and turned to leave. Merlin looked them all over as they left and realized that he had once again been inadvertently staring at the young girl with the scarf. She looked back to flash him a quick smile as she walked out the door. He found himself smiling back reflexively.

Merlin felt an elbow nudge him in the side and saw Gwen, smirking slightly. "I think she likes you," she whispered, her eyes twinkling with quirky, impish humor. Merlin grinned back and looked over at his master. Arthur was staring at him incredulously, having seen the traveling girl's reaction to Merlin. The dark-haired man felt the grin slide off his face as Arthur's expression began changing from disbelief to humor.

"Very well, everyone is dismissed," Uther said, finally. Members of the Council began chattering amongst themselves, and Arthur walked over to his servant. "I expect that my room is restored from its state of disaster this morning?" he asked brusquely.

"Yes, sire," Merlin said absently, thinking about how Keir's tone had changed during his reassurances that his band of odd companions would not make any trouble.

"Good. Now that that's all sorted out, I think that you've got plenty of _actual_ chores to be doing, don't you?" the young prince said, watching Guinevere carefully as she talked to Morgana near the throne.

"What? I didn't think there was much to do…" Merlin said, racking his memory for something he had forgotten.

"No? I could have sworn I told you start by taking my tack to the leather worker to be mended, along with the saddle to have the buckle redone by the blacksmith. In addition, my hunting gear needs to be cleaned and collected for the upcoming trip. I also said that the training dummies needed to be refilled with straw, they're looking a little thin," Arthur said, eyes still trained firmly on the beautiful serving girl across the hall, his love.

"You never said anything about that yesterday!" Merlin said hotly. "If you had, I would've done it _yesterday!"_

"Merlin," Arthur said pointedly.

Merlin looked up and finally saw where his master was staring. "Oh. _Oh_. Yes, there are plenty of chores to be done, plenty indeed. I think I'll go. You know, to start them. Right now," he said awkwardly, before leaving the room abruptly. Arthur rolled his eyes and walked over to Guinevere, who had just curtseyed to Morgana and was preparing to leave the room herself.

"May I walk with you, milady?" Arthur asked gallantly, stepping in smoothly beside Arthur and offering his arm. Guinevere smiled and accepted his arm, walking strongly by his side.

Uther saw them walking together and frowned. Arthur should know better. His musing on what to do was interrupted by another courier telling him about the overdue trade shipment of buckles and candles with the kingdom of Telluris. The thoughts were swept into the back of his mind by the habitual, everyday responsibilities of the kingdom.

However, the concerns were not forgotten.

MERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLIN

Keir and his band of people walked through the streets with their odd, easy gait amid uneasy or curious stares from the citizens of Camelot. Every now and again, they would stop to look closely at something: a building or facet of the castle, to admire the fallen leaves dancing in the autumn wind across the courtyard, the view of the surrounding forest.

After a time, they stopped in a corner of the central market and sat against the wall of a farrier's shop. They looked completely at ease with one another, leaning on each other's shoulders and gesturing towards points of interest that they saw.

They relaxed comfortably into each other's company and watched the passerby with an interested gaze, occasionally laughing at the stunned looks they received.

Two of the bards, a young man with dark, intelligent eyes and a stunningly beautiful young woman with silvery-blond hair opened the battered cases they carried on their backs and pulled out musical instruments. The woman ran her delicate fingers along the neck of the wooden harp lovingly, caressing the frame with such tenderness that one could hardly be mistaken about its possession.

The young man pulled out a plain, worn lyre and struck a sudden chord, the notes ringing out clear and true amid the bustle of the marketplace. The woman plucked an answering arpeggio almost immediately, turning the major chord into something stranger, something that sounded wholly untamed and wild.

The young man shook his head and laughed easily. "Ariadne, my sweet, you mistake my invitation. I wish only to mix my sounds with yours, to create something more beautiful, something more than I myself can give. I do not wish to duel with you over the nature of art when we are both of the same spirit, the same kin."

The beautiful woman smiled gently at him. "There is nothing in this world that is more worthy of conflict than the expression of truth and freedom that comes from sharing music as it is with the world. Surely you, Devar, as an artist of the Lore, know this."

"You always had the gift for finding the truth," the young man called Devar said, smiling back at her, unoffended. It was obvious that they cared for each other very much.

He struck the chord again, smiling as the musical cadence spiraled out into the air, mingled with her strange, somehow melancholy counter-melody. They played that way, with the rest of the group listening intently and leaning closer to hear the music being created.

Several people in the market slowed their pace or stopped entirely to listen, and stayed, transfixed by the clear, ringing notes of the duet. As Keir stared idly around, he caught sight of the youth he had seen in the Throne room, with the raven hair and their earnest expression.

The young man appeared to be struggling to undo a knot in a worn piece of horse bridle, but looked up and stared once he heard the music. Keir looked back to his group, playing happily and oblivious to the not entirely friendly stares of everyone around them. _Yes_ , he thought to himself. The boy would do nicely for their purposes.

He appeared to have forgotten all about his task, the piece of tack hung limply by his side as he stared in awe of the group.

Keir suddenly noticed that the young man's eyes were getting a distant, glassy look. His gaze was frighteningly blank as he slowly began stepping closer to the musicians.

"Ariadne." Keir said quietly, voice ringing with soft authority. Ariadne and Devar stopped playing immediately, followed by a questioning glance from the rest of the group. He subtly tilted his head towards the young man.

The dark-haired youth seemed to remember where he was, and shook his head slightly, stepping back from the side of the farrier's building where the bards were seated. His eyes regained focus and he set off in the direction of the castle, once again engaged in his epic struggle with the leather working.

"He will prove useful to us," Keir said lowly, so that the rest of the group could hear him over the bustle of the marketplace. "Already, he is susceptible to our music. We must be more careful with its charms, Ariadne. Devar," he said.

The two bards acknowledged their fault by lowering their heads slightly.

"In fact, I suspect he will prove to be most indispensable to us, once we have begun the movements of the plan," he murmured.

"The wheel of destiny turns into eternity. And who will be crushed, I wonder?" one of the bards asked rhetorically.

The rest stayed silent, watching Merlin's retreating back with careful eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ Hello, everyone. Wow, this is update is so much later than I thought it would be...All I can offer is that an apology and the honest promise that I will try to be more punctual with these...Yeah. So, if anyone is left to pay attention to this story, here it is. There are a few inconsistencies that I feel I should point out, because I fully intended them to be there. Also, if anyone has any questions about anything posted, feel free to PM me because I know it might be a little confusing and I will try to explain as well as I can.

1\. The instruments used in this chapter were not even invented at the time of Arthur's rule, but they needed to be for my story. I know I bent the rules of the past and messed up any chance of this being historically accurate, but this is fanfic after all.

2\. Merlin has never shown any skill with a musical instrument in any of the episodes I have seen so far (which is about mid-season 3) and I assume that it wouldn't really come up. In my story he has musical talent, but it's explained, so please just suspend your disbelief.

3\. Next...wait I think that's actually it.

This chapter contains some dark themes and a description (not too graphic) of a suicide. It's there for plot reasons, but if this will be disturbing to anyone, just know that it happened and skip it when you see the line break near the end.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Merlin or anything associated with it. Wish I did though.

I got inspiration for this story, strangely, after watching Star Trek TOS S3E20, The Way to Eden. If you're a Trekkie, it's the episode with the Space Hippies. Yes, that one. If you aren't...then watch it and you'll understand. Premise is based _loosely_ off this, but I certainly do not own Star Trek or anything affiliated with it either.

Namaste :)

Chapter 2. 

Merlin entered the royal stables, relishing the comforting smells of oats, hay and the horses. He hung the leather tack on a nearby hook and struggled to lift the heavy saddle back onto its stand. Finally, one of the stable hands took pity on him and tapped him on the shoulder. Merlin turned, knees threatening to buckle under the weight and arms shaking slightly. The stable hand, a large young man with arms roughly the size of tree trunks took the saddle from Merlin's weak grasp and effortlessly placed it on the high stand.

"Thank you," Merlin said breathlessly.

The stable hand smiled kindly, but turned back to his work almost immediately.

Merlin hurried back to the castle, just as the clock tower chimed one in the afternoon. Merlin stood frozen in shock for a moment. _How in the world had it gotten so late?_ he thought with dismay. He had set out to do Arthur's list of chores at just after eleven that morning. He knew it couldn't have taken him two hours just for the relatively short list that Arthur had assigned him.

He ran in just as Arthur was leaving his chambers. "Ah, Merlin! Glad to see you," the young prince said, starting to move down the hallway. "I'm off to oversee construction in the Lower Town, but I wanted to thank you for disappearing so fully. Although I must say, two hours is a bit excessive," he said, frowning slightly.

"I didn't mean to be gone so long," Merlin said by way of apology. "I went to do the chores, just as you asked, and I was nearly finished with them by quarter after twelve. Then I saw the bards in the market and-" he stumbled to a halt, realizing with a jolt that he had absolutely no idea what had happened to the missing forty-five minutes.

"Yes, well. No harm done, I suppose," Arthur said, missing his servant's confusion entirely. "Just don't make it a habit. Oh, and Merlin?" he asked. Merlin focused on his master's face.

"You can take the rest of the day off; I won't be needing anything," the Prince said after some consideration.

Merlin gaped in shock.

"Oh, come now, it's not really so unexpected, is it?" Arthur said, exasperated.

"You never give me time off," Merlin said in a voice that was part bewilderment, part dismay. "If it's about this morning—" he began.

"No, no, that's not why I'm doing this," Arthur said quickly. "I thought you might like a day off, is all." He saw Merlin's shocked gaze, and his own scowl deepened.

"Just go before I change my mind," he snapped and stormed away.

Merlin stared after him, shaking his head in disbelief.

 **MERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLIN**

"I'm afraid I've nothing for you to do, Merlin," Gaius said, breezing around his quarters, absently straightening books and rearranging bottles mixed with various substances. "There's been no one in to see me all morning, and I've been meaning to reorganize everything here. We have some particularly volatile substances lying around that could be very dangerous."

Merlin looked around at the familiar chaos amid the cluttered room. "Well, if it needs some cleaning, perhaps I could be of assistance," he said, surveying the clutter.

"Merlin, it's nothing against you, really. I'd rather just do this myself so that I know where everything is. To be completely frank, Merlin, you're a bit clumsy for this sort of work," the old physician said, not unkindly.

"I can help you—" Merlin repeated, moving towards the work bench.

"No!" Gaius all but shouted, causing Merlin to jump. Unfortunately, his elbow caught a book, which had several bottles and bundles of herbs on top of it. Even more regrettably, his magic was not fast enough to catch the detritus before it hit the floor and shattered spectacularly.

"Oh, Gaius, I'm sorry. Here, I'll clean it up," Merlin said quickly, almost running to fetch the broom from the corner. In his haste, his boot caught the edge of a stool. Both the hapless servant and the wooden stool hit the floor with a resounding crash that made Gaius wince.

"Are you alright, Merlin?" he asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes to the ceiling. Merlin groaned and pulled himself off the floor. "Gaius, I'm—"

"Don't be sorry, Merlin," Gaius said with a slight sigh. "Just—please go somewhere else for a while until I get the chambers straightened up."

Merlin looked around at the amount of damage he had caused, and hung his head guiltily. He left without another word.

Merlin found himself moodily walking around the Lower Town markets. He had no money, and some of the stall owners were eyeing him with mistrust. He didn't understand why; he had never show himself to be anything less than honest, particularly around the marketplaces, where rumors spread like wildfire.

Five minutes of ill-timed action could ruin a good reputation for a lifetime. He found his mind restlessly replaying the actions of that morning, and his own recent inadequacies.

It was bad enough that Arthur had dismissed him, but for _Gaius_ to send him away…

He hunched his shoulders and kicked angrily at a stray pebble on the road. He was so absorbed in his own dark thoughts that he didn't even seen the slight figure bolt from an adjacent alleyway until they ran right into each other. Merlin went down hard, elbows colliding painfully with the cobblestones. He heard a slight ' _oomph_ ' and looked to his right.

It was the girl from the Hall, with the orange scarf and the long brown curls. She lay on the street, slightly winded from her fall. Merlin scrambled up and immediately offered his hand. She accepted it easily, and he helped her up. Merlin couldn't help but notice how soft her skin was, and how fragile it felt in his own rough hand.

He was about to ask if she was alright, when an enraged voice from behind them shouted, "Hey! Get back here!" Both Merlin and the girl's heads turned to see a fat stall-owner with a florid face shaking a fist and hurrying towards them.

"Come on," she said urgently, her green eyes seeking out the young warlock's. Merlin was speechless; she was even more beautiful up close. When she tugged at his hand and began hurrying through the crowd, he quickened his steps to match hers without thinking. Hand in hand, they fled the street where a crowd was beginning to gather, watching them run. They darted through the winding streets, and Merlin thought he caught sight a few red cloaks running down the adjacent path.

"Wait," Merlin said suddenly, halting abruptly. The girl turned back to him, with curiosity in her eyes, but no fear. "They've sent the guards after us. Quickly, this way!"

He led her to a dark corner at the edge of the market, and then slipped behind the small opening between buildings that the smaller children sometimes used for their seeking games. No one would think to look there, especially because someone had put a few crates and barrels in front of the opening.

The girl climbed nimbly over the crates and crouched down, hidden from view. Merlin saw a flash of red from the corner of his eye and leapt somewhat less gracefully behind the crates where he landed clumsily next to the girl. Staying quiet, he peeked out through a gap and watched as the guards passed them by. He stayed silent for a few moments more, then warily stood up. After making sure there weren't any others, he climbed back over the crates and offered a hand to the girl, smiling slightly when she took it.

She was a slim, tall girl wearing brightly-colored layered skirts over what looked like deerskin leggings and a plain green work-shirt that complemented her eyes. Her slightly eccentric appearance was finished by a large mass of dark curly hair tied tightly back with an orange scarf.

"Thank you for helping me; I'm sorry that I ran into you," said the girl, her tone clear and light.

"Hm?" Merlin said, momentarily distracted by the sheer loveliness of her voice. "Oh, that. Yes, well, it's no problem, really. Why was the stall-owner trying to catch you?"

She looked down, and if Merlin hadn't known better, he would have thought she was embarrassed. "He was chasing me because I took some of his apples," she finally admitted, pulling some out of the various pockets in her dusty knapsack.

"I offered him money, but he said he wouldn't deal with a traveler such as the likes of me. I even left the gold on the stall, but he saw me walk away with them and assumed I'd stolen them. I suppose he's told the guards by now that I am a thieving vagabond," she said sardonically.

Merlin was surprised by the bitterness in her voice, and grabbed her hand impulsively. "No, that's not it. He's just not used to seeing someone as beaut—I mean someone like you," he said, face flushing with embarrassment.

She giggled and looked up into his eyes with disarming honesty. Merlin found himself staring back, hypnotized by the dancing flecks of gold in deep forest green eyes.

"Please, do not misunderstand my next question; I am grateful that we did not get caught. How did you know that this was here?" she motioned to the gap in the wall.

"Oh, that? To tell the truth, I found it a few months ago when I was hiding from the guards myself," Merlin admitted, scratching the back of his head ruefully. "I had been running errands for the Prince and I accidently tripped and crashed into a chicken stall. It was terrible, feathers and screaming people all around as the chickens flew everywhere. One landed in the chicken owners' hair; she was screaming fit to raise the dead!"

Merlin chuckled, remembering the cranky old woman who continually reprimanded him for his "shifty looks" and warned him to stay away from her chickens by rapping him on the head with an old soup ladle. He hadn't meant for the chickens to get loose, but he also couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for what had happened to the bad-tempered old crone.

The girl laughed, a pure musical sound that sent a warm feeling down Merlin's back. What was it about this girl? he wondered. It wasn't just her beauty; there was something about her that he found himself strangely drawn to.

"Are you required to be somewhere?" she asked suddenly. Merlin shook his head, remembering that he had been dismissed both by Arthur and Gaius.

Somehow, the thought was no longer entirely unappealing.

"Will you come with me, then? I would like you to meet the rest of my people," she said, her eyes expressing her feelings.

"I would love to," Merlin said, smiling at her.

"They said they would be staying on the outskirts of Camelot, in one of the neighboring fields to watch the city. I volunteered to get something for lunch and bring it back, because I wanted to see the rest of the square. Although we are intrigued by the ways of people, we enjoy nature above all," she said, picking her way carefully past a moving hay cart, leading the way.

"I understand," the young warlock said, remembering the quiet, peaceful way of the Druids.

"Oh, my name's Merlin," he added, remembering his manners. "What's yours?"

She glanced back his way with a quick smile.

"Keelia."

Without saying anything more, she led him out of the city to a field about a half mile away from the settlements. It was still within Camelot's territory, but far enough removed that it was quiet and still.

They approached the field, where Merlin could see the rest of the group sitting or lounging around in a roughly circular shape. They did not seem to be doing much of anything, just talking quietly or staring up at the sky. Keir, the one who had addressed the king, was sitting up, chewing on a piece of grass and watching the midafternoon sun sprawl lazily over the hills.

"Keelia," he said, standing when he recognized her. "We had begun to worry. And who is this?" he said, seeing Merlin.

"You were in the Hall this morning with the King, were you not?" he asked, looking at Merlin directly.

Merlin found the effect of his multi-colored eyes dizzying. "Yes, I'm Merlin," he said.

"The Prince's servant, yes?" Keir asked, sharp with interest.

"That's me," Merlin said, trying to stay friendly, but frowning slightly. He hadn't told Keir that.

"I saw you this morning, as we were leaving. You attended to him," Keir explained smoothly, passing off the awkward moment.

"Keir, stop interrogating the lad. Let him stay in peace," one of the other young men in the group spoke up, teasingly but with an admonishing tone.

Keir suddenly grinned and Merlin inexplicably felt more at ease.

"Please forgive me, Merlin," he said. "Long months of traveling with only this lot for company has made me somewhat wary of strangers and inexcusably rude. Please, join us." He motioned towards the casual gathering and sat down.

Merlin walked over and sat between Keelia and another man, with red hair cropped close to his head.

"That is Finn," Keir said, pointing to the young man sitting next to the warlock. "Good to meet you," the red head remarked, holding out a hand. His grasp was strong and dry. Merlin shook, feeling rough calluses.

"This is Devar, and Ariadne. She goes by Ari," he added. Merlin nodded to them, remembering the dark eyes of the man and the silvery blond hair of the woman who had played together in the market where he had first seen them. They sat closely, and looked at total ease with one another They were deeply in love, Merlin realized with a flash of intuition. "Those bright eyes and that dark hair," Ari remarked to Devar. "Yes, definitely a child of frost," he replied. "Tell me, were you born in midwinter?" he asked Merlin.

Merlin's mouth dropped open in slight shock. He had never told anyone except for Gaius when his birthday was.

"I thought so," Ari said with a smile, settling back once again.

"Olwyn, who goes by Ollie most of the time," Keir continued, pointing to a blond young man with mischievous blue eyes sitting on the other side of Keelia who tipped an imaginary hat to Merlin in greeting.

"And finally, Christine," he said, motioning to the young woman who sat next to him on the left. She had a kind face framed by blond hair and a wise gaze. Her quiet, understanding way had a calming effect on the group dynamic, and Merlin liked her instantly.

"Hello, Merlin," she said warmly, reaching over to grip his hand in a brief greeting.

"It's good to meet you, all of you," Merlin said, looking over the faces. They all smiled back at him, and Merlin heard Ollie snicker.

Keelia pulled the apples out of her knapsack and passed them around the group. Finn likewise grabbed his battered traveling case and passed hard traveling biscuits and chunks of some heavily salted cheese. Ollie produced a few water skins and passed them around, completing the simple meal.

Merlin munched his share comfortably, just watching the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the blades of grass and relaxing in the company of others.

"Did you have any trouble getting around in the market?" Keir asked Keelia after some time.

"Getting the apples? The stall-owner didn't take to me very kindly," she said, lips pursing slightly. "I offered to pay for them, and he still refused me. So, I took them," she said, raising her chin defiantly.

Olwyn laughed from her side. His voice dropped half an octave in an impression of Uther so real that Merlin felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"'Just see to it that your people stay out of trouble'," he said, echoing the king's words with disdain clear in his tone. "Oh, Keelia! And I suppose you left the money anyway, didn't you? I wouldn't have," he remarked in a normal voice, before laughing again.

"Merlin helped me hide from the guards," Keelia continued with a half-hearted glare at Olwyn. "It is because of him that I was able to return at all."

"Thank you for helping her. By doing so, you have helped all of us," Keir said, looking once again at Merlin who was watching the scene with some amusement. "Surely this requires some reward."

"Oh, no, I don't need anything," Merlin said, thinking of the food that he had just eaten. It was clear that the travelers possessed very little, but they had willingly given him a fair portion of their meagre food supplies and accepted him without any kind of suspicion apart from Keir's questions.

"Nonsense," Devar cried joyfully. "A song or two will suffice, I hope," he looked at Merlin with a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

"That will be more than enough," Merlin said, not wanting to seem ungracious.

"Fantastic!" Ollie cried, rolling backwards in a neat somersault and landing beside his own battered case. He pulled out a stringed instrument unlike any Merlin had ever seen and began striking chords in a deceptively complex pattern. "It's called a cittern," he explained in response to Merlin's bewildered gaze.

Devar and Ariadne both pulled out their lyres once more and began warming up, moving their fingers swiftly over the strings in perfect unison.

Finn pulled out a drum of some sort and began tapping it in a solid rhythm that steadily increased in tempo.

As Merlin watched, Keelia pulled out a small wooden flute and experimentally ran through some ascending scales and trills. The sound was clear and pure, not unlike her own voice. The sounds it made were beautiful and wild, causing something inside Merlin to stir in response to the rich sounds. A vague outline of a memory drifted through his mind, something about the sound was achingly reminiscent of his childhood in Ealdor.

"And will you join us, young bardling?" Finn asked, tone half-joking, half-serious.

"Oh, no, I don't play," Merlin said quickly, although his fingers suddenly itched to hold the lyre, to feel the instrument respond to his touch.

"Yes, you do," Keir said, who had been watching the raven-haired man carefully. "Or, at least, you did. How many years has it been?" he asked.

Merlin turned to stare at him, unable to hide his shock. "No, I'm sorry, I n-never-" he stuttered, unnerved that the group seemed to know so much about him.

"Oh, come now. It's not a _crime,_ lad," Ollie continued, mocking Finn's slight accent. "The way you looked at it gave it away; no one can look with that much feeling towards a musical instrument unless they knew it and loved it. Unless they had explored the secrets that the art has to offer in the sacred bond between player and music," he said, blue eyes uncharacteristically serious.

The young warlock looked around at the ring of curious but not prying faces, and shifted his gaze down at his clasped hands.

"It's been ten years," he admitted quietly. "I used to play when I was younger, in Ealdor, my home village. The other children in the village used to enjoy it when I played and many of the women said that I had some skill, that I should continue it."

In truth, Merlin's talent had been completely unheard of in a village as small as Ealdor. His natural aptitude and uncommon ability had made the elders uneasy, and they had begun whispering of sorcery and magical means. Hunith had made Merlin stop playing when she heard the rumors for fear that her son would be discovered.

The young boy had promised that he would stop playing, and had walked to the woods outside the village to cry where no one would see him. After a few hours, Merlin came back and discovered that Hunith had sold his lyre, his most prized possession.

Merlin snapped back to the present as Christine asked gently, "Why did you stop?"

"I got too busy to play anymore," he said abruptly, and stopped talking. He wasn't going to tell them the real reason, no matter how much they seemed to understand. To his dismay, Keir looked as though he understood much more than what Merlin had divulged. "Well, perhaps you can try it again," he said easily.

"No, really, I don't think—" the servant began before a lyre was thrust into his hands by Devar.

"It's alright; I'll sing this time," Devar said, waving a hand when Merlin tried to hand back the instrument.

"Well, that'll kill the experience for sure," Ari cracked, causing a few snickers to go around the group. Devar stuck his tongue out good-naturedly and settled back down.

"Go on then, bardling," Ollie said, picking up Finn's nickname from earlier. "Play something."

Merlin moved the lyre almost reflexively, muscle memory taking over. His fingers positioned themselves over the strings easily, as if they had never stopped. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly brushed a chord over the strings. His playing was clumsy, but his skill began resurfacing and it was soon obvious that he had been very good once.

Gaining confidence, Merlin began a strumming pattern and smoothly transitioned between the chords, with nary a hitch in the sound. He heard soft murmurs and intakes of air in pleasure and surprise from the group.

"Oh, Merlin, why would you _ever_ stop playing? You're amazing," Keelia said, eyes half-closed to better focus on the musical tones falling in rapid succession.

Merlin faltered, and his fingers slid with an unpleasant, harsh sound in the middle of his progression. Suddenly, playing felt wrong and immoral, as if he knew he shouldn't be doing it.

The group, perhaps sensing his guilt, settled back in slight disappointment, but didn't say anything.

"Once more, Merlin," Keelia said in the sudden silence. "Please." She looked him fully in the face and he found himself drowning in the expressive pools of color that were her eyes.

Suddenly inspired, he began plucking a simple tune that could easily be modified, a cheerful melody that he remembered being a favorite among the children and adults alike for dancing. Ollie grinned and started a simple counter-melody that harmonized quite beautifully. After a few moments of listening, Finn started tapping on the drum that he carried, an upbeat rhythm that perfectly matched the tone of the song, free and joyful.

The excitement of playing in a group was catching, and Merlin realized that he was grinning from ear to ear like a fool. After looking around, he decided it didn't matter because everyone else was too.

"Keep the craic going, lads!" Keelia cried, then began playing her flute in a tune that exactly matched the cadence that Merlin had started, accentuating the melody an octave up.

Ariadne began strumming in strong, meaningful accompanying chords, looking to the rest of the group for the shifts. Beside her Devar was tapping on a nearby log in an identical rhythm with Finn.

Merlin looked to Keir, who had stood up. He pulled Christine to her feet and bowed gracefully. She returned his invitation with an elegant curtsy and they each put a hand to the center, pressing their palms together.

They walked slowly in a circle, finding the beat of the music. Suddenly, they exploded in a flurry of movement as they twirled and ducked, stepped and slid around each other in a beautiful, combined movement that was full of purpose and beauty.

The movements were executed so flawlessly that they looked completely casual, and Merlin's eyes were drawn to the way Christine's hair twirled around her neck in a graceful arc as she spun.

Keir neatly stepped around and twirled her once more, clearly leading but never forcing. He looked more refined and poised than any noble Merlin could ever remember watching. Christine smiled at her dance partner in a simple expression of happiness and Merlin felt his heart swell with love for this strange group of people.

As the sound wove its way to the last cadence, instruments began dropping out. The last to stop was Keelia, and then only the young warlock was left playing. His fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, no longer worried about the technique or sound. The other members of the group sat in rapt silence until finally he slowed.

The last notes trailed off into silence, and for a heartbeat, all was still. Then a wild commotion of joy and exclamation erupted from the bards and Merlin found himself unbelievable happy, feeling strangely satisfied for the first time in years.

"Truly, Merlin? You were going to deny us _that_?" Olwyn asked, disbelief warring with laughter in his voice.

Merlin smiled back. "It was amazing," he said, knowing that _amazing_ didn't even begin to cover the way he felt. Keelia grinned at him knowingly.

Merlin suddenly realized that the sun had begun to set.

The clock tower in Camelot suddenly struck five times, and Merlin once again found himself stunned at how quickly time had passed.

"I've got to get back to the city," the young warlock said, handing the lyre back to Devar with real regret.

"Thank you, for the food and for the music. I've really enjoyed being with all of you," Merlin said, speaking earnestly and without a trace of self-consciousness.

Keir smiled back at him. "You are welcome to come back and join us any time, Merlin. Your skills are incredible; it's wonderful to perform with a fellow musician."

"Perhaps next time, he can prove his skill with words," Ollie piped up. "I've a fair amount of skill with poetry and verse, particularly concerning the monarchy. I am eager to show the king," he lifted an eyebrow in a mischievous way that immediately warned Merlin of danger.

"Seriously, Merlin. Please come back to see us again," Christine said, her tone ringing with sincerity.

"I will," Merlin promised, realizing he fully meant it. Now that he had experienced it again, he didn't know how he was ever going to give up playing.

Merlin walked back to Camelot alone, humming the song he had played earlier and already thinking about what he would play at their next meeting.

 **MERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLIN**

The man sat bolt upright in bed, woken from a dead sleep. He stayed quiet, not sure of what woke him up. With a growing sense of unease, he slipped silently out of the bed he shared with his wife and pulled on a nightshirt. Grabbing his hunting knife, he walked out of his room. Checking on his young daughters and finding them peacefully sleeping, the man decided to step outside to clear his head. His skin winced at the cold night air, but he found his mind settling as he realized there was nothing to disturb the peace.

He was about to turn back inside when he heard a whisper. He froze, listening again. " _Renfrey_ ," the whisper said, giving the man a chill. He looked around to see who had called his name. " _Renfrey_ ," the voice said again, carried by the wind. As Renfrey listened, he became aware of a faint musical refrain, a collection of notes that sounded familiar but couldn't quite place…. Something sad and wild and completely foreign yet so familiar he could feel it in his heart….

Renfrey's eyes became distant and his limbs went slack. The hunting knife dropped from nerveless fingers and landed at his feet. Taking no heed, he stepped into the street and began slowly walking towards the dais in the center of the Lower Town that was used to announce events.

Renfrey walked as a man dreaming, slowly but steadily. His head was filled with the music and he was hardly even aware of his actions. As he mounted the steps of the dais, he grabbed a nearby hanging rope.

Humming the tune under his breath, he smiled slightly and began looping the rope into his desired shape. With a well-aimed toss, Renfrey was able to throw the rope over the support beam mounted on the building behind the dais that was used to hold a torch that burned continuously through the night.

Still smiling, he tied off the end of the rope to the post and stepped near the edge of the dais. He slipped the noose over his head and tightened the knot behind him. Eyes unfocused, he stood still for a moment. The music was insistent, making it difficult to think about anything else as the notes filled his mind with purpose. As he hummed the last few notes, Renfrey stepped off the edge of the dais, struggling instinctively against the lack of oxygen. After a short time, his struggles stopped.

A figure stepped out from the shadow, followed by another, and another until seven shapes were silhouetted in the moonlight. "Well done," Devar whispered to Ariadne, who leaned closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and they stood together.

The group stood quietly, gazing at the effects of Ariadne's deadly, final song. Finally, Keir spoke up. "We should leave, lest we be seen."

The bards turned to go, and filed silently down the streets. As they walked, Keelia caught up with Keir.

"The boy is special, is he not?" She asked, talking about Merlin.

Keir nodded seriously. "He has serious talent, and that will prove most enormously efficient once the rest of the plan is set in motion."

"The way he played today," Keelia said slowly, not sure of herself.

"Yes, I find myself wondering if he isn't one of us after all, at least partly," Keir said, catching her meaning immediately. "He plays far too well for a mere human. Perhaps he has magic," he mused.

"Either way," Ollie said, joining the conversation. "We will need him if we are to complete our task for the Great One."

"Indeed," Keir agreed quietly, eyes staring coldly out into the night.

The bards slid silently through the streets of Camelot, then walked under a darkened overhang. They never emerged, vanishing into the shadows.

Camelot slept peacefully on.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N:_** Oh gosh. It has been nearly four months since I have posted anything for this story. I swear I never meant for this to happen, it just sort of slipped away from me. I kind of lost my direction (I know, sad for a story with only two chapters in place), and didn't quite know what to do. But, here it is so...I can't say anything except I apologize profusely and promise to make an honest effort to never let this happen again. Anyway, I'll be honest. This chapter doesn't have a whole lot of action, but there is a healthy dose of Merlin-whump for those who like that kind of thing. And I've got the next chapter outlined; I plan to have that posted within the week.

Thank you so much to anyone still out there. Reviews of any kind are appreciated. Seriously. Even a tough criticism can be helpful in writing. All mistakes remain my own. Standard disclaimer applies

Namaste

Chapter 3.

Gaius rolled over in his sleep and was suddenly wide awake. He shifted on his cot and closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable. After a few moments, he opened them again, realizing that trying to sleep was useless. He glanced towards the window of the main room and sighed quietly when he saw that it was still hours before dawn would break.

He resigned himself to the few hours of sleep he had managed to get, and painfully pulled himself to a sitting position. His back creaked, and more than a few of his joints groaned. Gaius sighed again, acutely aware of his own mortality.

Hearing a small noise behind him, he turned sharply and saw his dark-haired ward standing at the work bench. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he looked at the book propped against the wall. Merlin turned his head and saw that the physician was awake.

"Morning, Gaius," he said quietly, sparing a small smile for his surrogate father.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" Gaius asked in confusion. "Dawn is still hours away. You should be sleeping," he said, his tone slightly admonishing.

"So should you," Merlin said back, calm but slightly defensive.

Gaius raised an eyebrow and stared at the young man.

Merlin sighed and put down the mortar and pestle.

"I was having trouble sleeping, so I thought I'd get some work done. I noticed that the regular potions for medicine were running low, and since you didn't get to make any yesterday because of…" he trailed off, ducking his head in embarrassment as he remembered the mess he had inadvertently caused. "Well, anyway, I thought that maybe I could at least get started on a few of them. I just followed the recipes in the book you keep of the customers," he said hurriedly. "I didn't change anything."

Gaius had gotten up and strode to the table to look over the servant's work. In addition to the potion he was currently working on, there were several bottles pushed neatly to the side, carefully labeled. Gaius picked one up and examined it in the dim candlelight.

It was the tincture he regularly made for Lady Brynna, one of the elderly women on the Council whose finger joints had begun to pain her greatly. It was a particularly difficult mixture, because it required so much attention. If left alone to simmer too long or with too much heat, it became useless and had to be restarted. Even Gaius himself found it tedious and barely tolerable to make, because it took several hours to steep properly.

He set it down carefully and examined several of the other vials. "Yes, these look quite correct, they are all perfect, but…Merlin, how long have you been awake?" he asked, suddenly noticing how the dark the smudges under the man's eyes looked in his pale, drawn face.

Merlin's normally expressive face slipped into a cold, impassive mask. "It doesn't matter. The potions are ready to be delivered later today."

"This could have waited until much later; even Lady Brynna isn't expecting hers for another few days," Gaius argued, stepping towards the young man. "What's going on?" he asked, kindly but authoritatively.

Merlin's body was stiff, tension obvious in every line of his stance. "Nothing," he protested, but didn't meet the physician's eyes.

Gaius frowned and reached out his hand to touch the young man's brow. The warlock jerked away from the careful touch as if he'd been burned. "Gaius, I'm fine, really," he said quickly, almost panicking. "I couldn't sleep, that's all."

"Merlin, you have a fever. And you're shaking," he said, noticing the minute tremors that racked his thin frame.

Merlin tried to swallow, his dry throat making an audible click. He sat down heavily, rattling some of the bottles. Gaius sat down opposite him, concern etched in the lines of his face. The young servant's face was downcast, staring at his shaking hands. Suddenly he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, clenching his fists. Gaius could almost sense him gathering his strength. Merlin opened his eyes and relaxed his no longer shaking hands.

"Sorry," he muttered, ashamed at his own weakness.

"Don't apologize. How long have you been like this?" Gaius asked.

"I slept for about two hours and then woke up," Merlin said softly. "My head was pounding, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I kept feeling this sense of dread, like something terrible was about to happen. And I had a dream that was….strange," he finished.

"You should have woken me," Gaius said. "What was your dream?"

Merlin was silent, collecting his thoughts. "It was in the village," he began. "There was a man, I didn't know his name, but he looked familiar. He was walking in the dead of night, and then suddenly there was this—this music." He suddenly turned to face Gaius, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Gaius, it was so sad, so full of anguish. The man could hear it too, I know he could. He walked to the dais in the Lower Town and—" he cut himself off, not wanting to relive that part of the dream.

"And?" Gaius prompted gently.

Merlin closed his eyes, still hearing the creak of the rope as the dead man swung gently.

"Merlin?"

The young warlock heard the voice as if from a great distance. He wanted to reply, but the music inside his head drowned out all his thoughts. The melody looped in his mind, wild hope and joy untouched by even the faintest doubt falling to a sadness so profound words couldn't begin to describe.

He vaguely felt as though he were falling, and suddenly, strong hands grasped at his shoulders.

With a shuddering gasp, he wrenched his eyes open and realized he was on the floor next to the bench. Gaius was kneeling beside him, relief showing clearly on his wizened face.

"Oh, thank the gods," he muttered, running his hands carefully over Merlin's body to ascertain any injuries.

"I'm alright," Merlin panted, still feeling dazed and not sure of his surroundings.

"Lie still," the physician ordered.

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feeling of the cool stone on his hot body.

"I don't see any injuries from the fall," Gaius said at length. "Do you think you can stand? You should be in bed," he said.

Merlin opened his eyes and nodded. He slowly sat up and climbed back onto the wooden chair, still feeling weak. Gaius swiped the blanket off his bed and wrapped it around the younger man's thin shoulders.

Merlin smiled his thanks and pulled it tighter. Gaius ground some herbs together and poured them into a cup filled with water.

"Drink this," he said. "It will bring down your fever and hopefully make you feel a bit better."

Merlin accepted the cup and took a sip, grimacing at the bitter concoction, although he could detect a trace of mint.

"All of it," the physician said, catching Merlin's look of disgust at the taste.

"They sat in silence for a while, both lost in thought.

"Your color is a little better," Gaius said finally. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Merlin said, wrapping his hands around the warm cup. "I just heard the music, like it was trapped in my head, and then I woke up on the floor."

He looked helplessly at the old man, giving him a kind of half shrug.

"I think you ought to lie down and try to rest," Gaius said, still looking at him with tight concern.

"He killed himself," Merlin said, staring at the bottles on the tidy workspace.

"What?" Gaius asked sharply. "Who?"

"The man in my dream," Merlin replied, softly. "He climbed the dais in the Lower Town and hung himself because…" his throat tightened, and he forced himself to breathe. "The music told him to."

"I'm sure it was just a dream, Merlin," the old man said, not unkindly. "We all have strange dreams from time to time; they rarely mean anything."

"Not like this," Merlin murmured. "I can still hear the music, Gaius. I could hum it for you. The man wasn't miserable or desperate. He didn't want to die. But he had no choice, the music made him. No one would have a choice."

He fell silent, staring into space again. The gray light of dawn had begun creeping through the windows, slowly lighting the room.

"Did you use magic to make the potions?" Gaius suddenly asked. "Perhaps you're just tired from the spells."

The raven-haired servant looked away. "No. Believe me, I tried, but it just wouldn't work," he said finally. "I thought that I could finish it faster if I used a spell, but I couldn't get the magic to focus on anything."

Gaius stared at him for a long moment, then got up. Rifling through the drawers, he pulled out a candle and plunked it onto the desk. "Light that," he ordered. Merlin moved to grab the small book of matches.

"No, with magic," Gaius said, sitting back down. "I've seen you do it a thousand times, even I used to do it fairly easily."

Merlin nodded and looked at the candle. Gaius turned his gaze as well, and they both stared expectantly at the wick. Several seconds passed and nothing happened. Merlin frowned and stretched a hand towards the candle, redoubling his efforts.

Gaius watched him carefully. Beads of sweat began forming on Merlin's brow, and his mouth was drawn down in a trembling white line of concentration. His hand grew more unsteady as he stared at the candle, willing it to light. "Come on," he muttered, staring intently at the candle.

Finally, he gasped and clutched at his head in pain. "I don't know what's wrong," he said through clenched teeth. He looked up and Gaius was alarmed to see that a thin ribbon of dark blood began running from Merlin's nose. Merlin reached for a nearby cloth.

"That happened earlier too, when I tried to make the potion," he said quietly.

Gaius sighed and looked at his young friend, who had started shaking again. "Merlin," he said, getting the warlock's attention. "It's alright now. You're probably just tired. Even if it does mean something, I'm sure we can figure it out."

A smile wavered on the raven-haired man's face, and he took the old man's hand and squeezed gently. "Thank you, Gaius," he whispered. "I know we will."

Gaius heard the weight of simple trust in the words and his heart ached fervently with the hope that he was right.

Merlin suddenly looked out the window, noting the time. "I'd better get to Arthur," he said, standing up and taking the blanket off.

Gaius reached out and felt his forehead once again. Merlin bore it patiently, all previous tension drained from his frame. "Your fever has gone down, but not disappeared entirely," Gaius said clinically. "Perhaps you'd better stay today, tell Arthur you're sick—"

"I'll be fine, Gaius," he said, tying his boots on. "I think I just need to go back to work, get my mind off it. I'll be by later today to help deliver the potions if I have time," he said.

"Alright. Oh, and take this," Gaius said, reaching for an apple and a slice of bread for his breakfast.

Merlin glanced up at him with a quick, genuine smile. "If something happens, I'll come right back," the servant promised, catching Gaius's concerned look.

"Go on, then," he said, turning back to the workbench.

He heard the door close behind him and immediately moved to the bookshelf. If something was going on, he was determined to find it before anything else happened. Gaius carried the heavy stack of informational books down and sat down at the table to start working.

MERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLINMERLIN

The servant walked briskly up the steps to his master's chambers, breakfast tray balanced carefully in one hand. He was still early, but perhaps Arthur would allow a little extra time today. Letting himself in, he found the room dark and the crown-prince snoring peacefully. Smirking slightly, he drew back the drapes. The bright sunlight filled the room, and shone directly in Arthur's face, who squinted against the light and promptly rolled on his side with a huff.

"It's time to get up," Merlin said, looking out the window.

"Go 'way," Arthur muttered sleepily, not moving.

Merlin crossed over to the bed and set the tray down with a resounding clang. Arthur jumped at the sudden noise and sat up, glaring at his servant.

"I've brought you breakfast," he said unnecessarily.

Arthur suddenly frowned at his servant. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Merlin turned away. "Yes. You should eat before it gets cold," he said, refusing to look the Prince in the eye.

Arthur opened his mouth to reply when a blood-curdling scream filled the air. Merlin bolted to the window, joined by Arthur. "It's coming from the Lower Town," the blond man said, seeing a crowd gathering, but unable to discern what the problem was. "I think we'd better go see—" he stopped, catching a glimpse of his servant's face.

"Merlin, you're white as a sheet! What's the matter?" he asked, seeing his friend's face drain of color.

"N-n-nothing," Merlin stammered, trying to regain a measure of composure. The door to the chambers burst open, and a messenger ran into the room. The young man began to look around, catching sight of the prince, clad only in a set of loose trousers.

"Begging your pardon sir," the courier began, blushing furiously. "The people of the Lower Town are asking for you. There's been an accident," he said, turning away as Arthur pulled on a shirt.

"An accident?" he repeated, buckling on his sword.

"Well, my lord, there's been a death," the servant said regretfully. "You'd better come see it yourself."

"I'll be there immediately," Arthur said, pulling on his boots. The messenger bowed respectfully and left.

"Come on," the prince said, striding towards the door, his servant following him closely. As they pushed through the crowd, the screaming became louder amid the confused babble of the people in the streets.

Finally, Arthur managed to push his way through to the center, where they seemed to be huddled around the dais. When the people saw who it was, they all fell silent, save for the screaming woman. Arthur looked up and saw the dead man hanging from the support beam.

Averting his eyes and fighting the urge to throw up, he turned back to the people on the ground. "Get him down," he ordered a few red-cloaked guards, who moved immediately to complete the grisly task.

The young prince moved through the crowd towards the woman who had stopped screaming but was sobbing soundlessly on the ground. An old man was rubbing her back consolingly, murmuring reassurances. "My lord," he said, gesturing helplessly to the weeping woman. "It's alright," Arthur said. "What happened?"

"We don't know, Your Highness," he said unhappily. "We woke up and began the day's chores, like any other. When we walked out, we saw poor Renfrey, hanging from the post. I don't know why it could have happened; I talked to the man myself just last night. He said he would see me today to help fix my wheelbarrow wheel, and then he went inside to bed."

"This is his wife," he gestured to the woman. "She said he didn't say anything odd last night, everything was perfectly normal. Then they wake up and…" he pulled a scrap of cloth out of his pocket and paused to wipe his eyes with it.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but Renfrey wouldn't have done this," the old man said firmly, setting his mouth in an unhappy line. "He's got two daughters and a wife who depend on him. He never would have left them."

Arthur's jaw clenched as two small faces peeked around the doorframe and moved towards their mother in the street.

"Guards, take them back to the palace. They don't need to see this," the prince ordered a few guards in the crows, urging them to move quickly.

"Yes, sire," they said quickly and moved to usher the children towards the castle. "Would you mind going as well?" Arthur asked the old man. "I would like to ask you some further questions."

"Of course, my lord," he answered immediately. "I don't know that she should be left alone," he said, hesitating to leave the inconsolable woman.

"I'll see that she is sent to the Court Physician, and then I will do everything I can to help her and her family. I give you my word," Arthur promised, his eyes looking honestly at the man.

"Thank you, sire," he said, eyes brimming with tears once again.

"Merlin, take her back to Gaius," Arthur said. "She needs to be looked after."

"Yes, sire," Merlin answered, already moving towards the woman. The guards had cut Renfrey down and were carefully pulling him off the dais. As they walked past Merlin, he saw something strange on the dead man's tunic.

He snatched out a hand quickly to ensure no one saw and watched as they carried him away. Looking down at his hand, he saw a single strand of long, silvery blond hair, glinting dully at him. Putting it carefully in his pocket, he began to help the distraught woman stand. They moved towards the Physician's Chambers slowly, their steps laden with grief and shock. Merlin walked the streets without seeing them, his gaze turned inwards towards his own troubled mind.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**_ Well. Um, here I am. I am soooo sorry for the long wait between chapters. I could give a long story filled with excuses about why I haven't updated in so long, but that's not what you're here for. So without further ado, chapter 4. I know this one is pretty short in comparison to my other chapters, but I didn't know how to make these events happen in a better format, and I kind of liked it anyway. Hopefully there's enough angst and bonding to hold you over until the next chapter, when the real action happens. Let me know what you think :)

Disclaimer: I still don't own this. Seriously, I doubt I'll ever be that lucky in this lifetime.

Namaste.

* * *

Without quite being aware of it, Merlin realized that his feet were taking him to the outskirts of Camelot, where the bards were camped. His fingers were clenched tightly around the silver hair in his pocket, trying not to think about what it meant. As he came closer, his resolve turned sharply inside of him, and he stopped.

He couldn't just walk into their peaceful encampment and accuse them of murder when the man's fate was clearly self-inflicted. _Even if I did, to what end?_ Merlin thought to himself. They would think him as close-minded and harsh as the people of Camelot.

He didn't have any real proof of their involvement in any of it except for a scrap of song half-remembered in a nightmare and a single hair. Hadn't he seen the bards walking around town earlier the previous day? Ariadne could have accidentally brushed up against the man, or any other number of innocuous happenings. It didn't mean anything.

Even as he tried to console himself, a part of his mind coldly noted his extreme reluctance to speak with them about it. Merlin frowned. When had their opinion begun to matter so much to them?

He sighed and scrubbed at his tired eyes, wearily continuing his stride. If they were involved, it was his responsibility to figure out what was happening. No matter what his personal feelings were, Camelot had to come first, in all things.

He stepped into the clearing, and saw Ollie pacing around with a scrap of bark and a piece of charcoal, muttering to himself. Keelia caught sight of him and jumped up, running towards him with a genuine smile.

"Merlin! I'm so glad you came!" she said, her eyes dancing with happiness.

"Yes, well, I wanted to see you—all of you," Merlin said, catching his words and feeling the tips of his ears flush again. Gods, something about this girl left him tongue-tied and feeling like a fool.

"Come, sit down with us," she said, taking his hand once again. "You look like you wish to say something."

He willingly followed her, dread growing in his heart as he walked towards their fire ring.

Keir was mending a shirt, but looked up and nodded to Merlin in greeting, unsurprised. Ariadne and Devar, perhaps sensing the tenor of their friends' thoughts, rose from where they were lying and joined them, flower chains abandoned. Christine settled herself down quietly after giving a warm smile to Merlin and pressing his hand in greeting. Only Ollie was left, still pacing around and frowning slightly at his bark scrap.

Finally, he looked up and saw the gang waiting for him. "Oh, Merlin! It's you. You're just in time to hear my new sonnet, written especially for the beloved King of Camelot, Uther Pendragon," he began, his wide grin threatening to split his face.

"Not now, Olwyn," Keir said in a flat tone.

The man looked shocked at the use of his full name. "If you'd like to sit and talk seriously of things, then by all means do so, but kindly refrain from hindering me to do what _I'd_ like," he said, a little peevishly.

"This concerns all of us." Keir said, locking eyes with the prankster.

"Then how come Finn isn't here?" Ollie challenged, raising his chin.

"I was gathering firewood for tonight," a deep voice said behind him. The tall redhead was carrying a bundle that easily weighed as much as Merlin with ease. "Some of us actually work and contribute to the group," he added, getting a dig in.

Keelia hid a smile at Olllie's hurt expression.

"You wound me," Olwyn said, putting a hand to his chest in mock pain. Nonetheless, he began walking towards their small congregation.

"I have been very busy as well. Listen-"

" _To us all he is an inspiration, the very height of nobility_

 _His steel eyes pierce through lies, although limited is his virility."_

"Ollie," Keelia began.

"Let me finish!" he exclaimed, actually stamping his foot, although his eyes shone with glee.

" _If to challenge with steel, you'll not leave without a nick_

 _His kind, sensitive nature only surpassed by the size of his—ow!"_

Ollie let out a painful yelp, having tripped over an unseen tree root and lay winded in the dirt.

Finn rolled his eyes, walked over and yanked him up by the back of his shirt.

"You shouldn't make verses like that about the king. I'm serious, Olwyn," Keir said, looking at him with a troubled gaze.

"It would be treason if he heard that," Merlin murmured, without thinking.

"Then he'd better not hear of it," Devar said, watching the warlock closely.

Merlin flushed and was about to protest when Keelia turned to the handsome bard.

"Oh, stop, Devar! You really think Merlin would report us for a harmless snatch of verse? He isn't so shallow, as to betray those he cares about for any type of personal gain!" She finished, voice sharp, every line in her body singing with tension.

Merlin stared at her in shock, he had never imagined her to have such a quick temper.

Devar raised his hands to her in surrender, then turned guilty eyes on Merlin.

"Forgive me, friend. That was completely tactless and singularly rude. We do not turn on our allies here."

"No, it should be I who apologizes," Merlin said back, with feeling. "You have every reason to mistrust others, and I spoke without thinking. My statement was not with any kind of reward or punishment in mind, only to your safety. If anything were to be found suspicious by the hands of the Court…" he trailed off.

He didn't need to finish. They were all aware that anything perceived as threatening to the king or his domain would end in the bards' swift removal, either by banishment or by death. King Uther was nothing if not efficient.

"Great, we're all friends. Now what did you want to tell us?" Olwyn butted in.

"Do you…what I mean to say is, are you all aware of what happened last night?" Merlin said, feeling the unease curl in his stomach.

"We were all here, well before the eighth hour struck," Christine said gently.

"A man in the village—he killed himself last night," Merlin murmured, dropping his eyes.

"That's terrible," Ari responded, her beautiful face marred by grief and loss.

"Why would you tell us this?" Keir asked, unkindly. "I agree, it's tragic and it's always horrible when something of this nature happens, but why bring it to us? Does the king think we were involved?"

Merlin could sense the group's sudden confusion, and his mouth went dry. He cursed his weakness and tripped over his words again.

"No, he doesn't—I mean, the king doesn't think you've done anything. It's just that—" he stopped, hating that he had to say what he thought.

"Merlin, are you alright?" Keelia asked. "You're feverish," she said, laying a dry hand on his hot brow.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," he lied, knowing that his fever had worsened since that morning. His vision swam slightly as he tried to smile at her, suddenly aware of how terrible he felt.

He blinked for a long moment, shutting his aching eyes. When he opened them again, he saw Christine kneeling in front of him with a kind expression.

"Our Christine has a healing touch," Keir said, leaning forward to watch the young man in concern. "Whatever's wrong, she's always able to sort it out."

Christine put a hand on Merlin's arm, then closed her eyes. "A deep fever burns within you," she stated quietly. "And…something else…" she frowned slightly, Merlin's eyes reflecting his astonishment.

"Just hush," she said, sensing the raven-haired servant was about to say something. "Wait a while."

He obeyed, head swimming with fever and lack of sleep. Merlin dimly felt himself slipping off the log, but strong hands caught him, and he let his head loll to his chest. He heard the quiet murmur of concerned voices, but not clearly enough to answer. All he could focus on was Christine's warp grip on his arm, comforting but almost burning, all at once.

In his mind, he felt a pervading sense of peace wash over his quick, disjointed thoughts exacerbated by the fever. He felt something _lifted_ from him, taken in a way that was clean and almost surgical. With this absence, came a blessed coolness that swept over his being. The relief was such that he could have cried. He let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding, then slowly opened his eyes.

Everyone was grouped around him, all looking at him with silent concern. He then became aware of Finn's strong arms supporting him on his right, and Keir's steady hand on his left shoulder. Christine released his arm, then rocked back on her heels.

"His fever's broken," she said, leaning against Keir in an easy gesture of love. "He'll be alright now."

"Feel better?" Keir asked, looking into Merlin's eyes. Merlin looked back in simply awe, still not sure what had happened and dizzied by the bard's multi-colored eyes.

"Yeah, much better. How did you do that?" he asked, stunned.

"I've always been able to help with things like that," Christine said modestly, shrugging in a gesture that made her look young. "There is much anguish in you, for one so young. The weight on your shoulders is far too great to bear alone," she said, looking sincerely looking into his eyes.

Merlin drew back, heart picking up pace in fear. If she somehow knew…

The rest of the group watched him closely, but without a shred of embarrassment.

"We are not unacquainted with loss and hardship, Merlin," Devar said quietly. Ari silently took his hand as he looked down.

"We all left the places we came from, but for different reasons. They turned their backs on us because they could not see the way we could," Keelia continued, voice shaking with emotion.

"We have seen things that would render it beautiful beyond belief, if they could be shared. And we have lost things that would tear it apart if that cost was ever demanded again," Olwyn finished, trademark smile replaced by a look of inconsolable sorrow. Finn laid a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, eyes reflecting his shared pain.

Keir looked at him steadily. "Even though we've only known each other a short time, I sense a kindred spirit in you, young one. You burn with the same fire we do, the same passion beats in your chest as it does with all of us. You needn't hide from us. Not ever."

The words, although simple, were uttered with such sincerity that it was impossible to doubt their truth.

"I know," Merlin said, speaking what he felt.

Keelia smiled at him, even though her green eyes were filled with tears. The distant bell in Camelot rang, striking noon.

"Thank you," the warlock said, rising from his place. The others rose also, standing with him in a circle.

"You're more than welcome, Merlin," Keir said. "Perhaps we'll see you in town later. We were planning to perform at one of the taverns tonight."

"Yeah! And recite more poetry!" Olwyn chimed in, laughing like a fool until Finn shoved him to the side good-naturedly.

The tension was broken, and they all laughed. Merlin left, feeling light and carefree.

* * *

He was almost to the Camelot limits when he stopped, smile freezing. He made sure he wasn't being watched, then focused on a small rock. Familiar power rushed through him, and the pebble skipped easily across the ground. Staring with an inscrutable expression, he turned back towards town. He couldn't stop his mind from wondering about his newly restored magic, the looks on the bards' faces when they confessed their pain, and the silvery-blonde hair in his pocket.


End file.
